by Leanne Banks
“No,” he said. “Anna’s been waiting to fix something for you since you walked in the door. She said you looked terribly pale.”
“There’s no need to fuss,” she said as she walked down the hallway beside him. She’d been too upset to notice much about Brock’s house. Now that she was more composed, she took in the décor. Beautiful antiques stood on top of luxurious rugs. Heavy draperies lined the windows. Brass framed mirrors reflected over-the-top chandeliers.
“This is amazing. It must be like living in a palace,” she said. “The antiques are—”
“—my mother’s,” he said with an edge of weariness in his voice. “As you know, I don’t stay here very often. I feel more at ease in the apartment at the office.”
“Oh,” she said. “It’s beautiful, but I can see why it might be hard to relax here. I’d be afraid I’d bump into something and break a million-dollar lamp.”
He chuckled. “That would be one way to clear out some of this junk. Anna,” he said as the housekeeper approached them. “Miss Linton says she would like toast.”
Anna nodded, trying to hide her disapproval. “With beef tips, or turkey and mashed potatoes? Or perhaps crab?”
Elle shook her head. “Just butter and maybe jelly on the side.”
Anna sighed. “If you’re certain, Miss Linton. Would you like some wine?”
“Orange juice with ice and water,” Elle said.
Anna nodded again. “I’ll have it for you in the dining room in just a couple moments.”
After Anna left, Elle turned to Brock. “I’m not really going to eat toast in a formal dining room, am I?”
He chuckled. “There’s a breakfast table in the sunroom.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said and followed him into a sunroom with a skylight that revealed the stars of the San Francisco night sky. Blinds were at perfect half-mast to showcase a courtyard with trees draped in white lights. She sank onto an overstuffed chair next to a glass table with a fresh flower arrangement. She looked around the room and breathed a sigh of relief. “I like this room.”
“My father did, too,” Brock said, sitting beside her. “He liked this room best. Got up before sunrise and read two newspapers here before going into work every day. Carol wanted to redecorate, but I refused. She has changed several rooms in the house, but not this one.”
“Why do you call your mother Carol?” she asked.
“That’s her name,” he said.
“Still, most men call the woman who gave birth to them ‘Mother’ or ‘Mom.’”
His gaze grew shuttered. “She’s always been more Carol than Mother. Breeding was compulsory.”
Elle gasped. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
He glanced toward the entry. “Here comes your toast. Thanks, Anna.”
Elle also thanked Anna and began to nibble the hot buttered bread. Anna had brought several different kinds. Any other time, she would have chosen wheat. Today she went straight for the sourdough. South Beach diet be damned. All she’d wanted since getting pregnant were carbs, carbs and more carbs. Thank goodness for prenatal vitamins.
Feeling Brock’s gaze on her, she took a sip of orange juice. Something about him made her nervous in an exciting, forbidden way. Still. Even after that terrible scene this morning. She glanced away, frowning to herself.
“Jelly?” he asked.
She shook her head and took another bite of toast. “This is perfect.”
His mouth lifted in a half-grin. Just as quickly, his smile fell. “How long have you known you were pregnant?”
Her throat closed around the bite of toast and she coughed, trying to swallow. She took another sip of juice. “Well, I haven’t been regular lately.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
She gnawed on her upper lip with her bottom teeth. “I suspected about six weeks ago.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Six weeks?”
“I’ve been nauseous since then. At first, I thought it might be an intestinal virus.” She shrugged. “Or stress. I avoided taking a home pregnancy test, but I made sure I was taking good vitamins. I was in denial,” she confessed. She just couldn’t believe she’d gotten pregnant by Brock, and she sure as heck had no clue what to do once her pregnancy was verified.
“So, how far along?” he asked.
“Three and a half months,” she said. “I saw the doctor two weeks ago. He said the nausea should pass soon. I’m still waiting,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t figure out how. I kept rehearsing all these different ways and none of them seemed right.” Her stomach clenched and she dropped her piece of toast onto her plate. “I’ve had enough.”
“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“But what about your health? What about the baby?” he demanded.
“I’m doing the best I can, and I’m taking prenatal vitamins. I have to believe that babies born with less food than I’m consuming have turned out fine, so I hope mine will, too.” She pushed the plate away and stood. “I should go home.”
Brock got to his feet, looming over her. “No. Stay here tonight.”
She shook her head, but he gently put his hands on either side of her face and pushed her hair behind her ears. “You need rest. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll feel better. Trust me.”
Elle looked into his eyes and felt her heart twist and tug with opposing feelings. She trusted him, but at the same time, she didn’t. She’d spent the last several months watching this man eat his competitors alive during the day and making her melt in his arms at night. He was passionate about the company. She’d never believed he could be equally passionate about her, yet when they’d been together, both of them had seemed to combust every time. She’d tried to tell herself it was just physical, but she’d known she was lying. She was falling for Brock. She had fallen for Brock.
Even though she’d slept for over five hours, she still felt exhausted. She couldn’t fight her weariness and Brock at the same time. “Okay, but I’m leaving in the morning.”
His gaze flickered with something indiscernible and she wished she could read him. She knew he could be a dangerous man.
“You’re wise to give yourself a break, Elle. Let me walk you back to your room.”
With his hand at her waist, she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. It was temporary, the same way their relationship had been. Still, he’d been a respite for her as she had been for him. It was a shame the whole thing had blown up in their faces, but she’d always known there’d never been any other possible ending for their relationship.
Brock opened the door to the blue bedroom. “Anna refilled your water. Call if you need anything. Sweet sleep,” he said and brushed his lips over her forehead.
Elle awakened the following morning when a sliver of the sun peeked through the curtains in the room. She savored the perfect cushiony firmness of the mattress and the cuddly cotton sheets. Even the pillow offered her head the perfect elevation. She sighed in contentment, inhaling the faintest whiff of eucalyptus and lavender.
Easing into consciousness, she thought about her mother. She should check on her. Three seconds passed and she thought of her grandfather. Frowning, she opened her eyes and realization hit her. She needed to check on him, too.
Sitting up, she remembered she was in Brock’s Nob Hill home, and she definitely should be leaving. Sliding from the bed, she felt the padded carpet beneath her feet and rushed to the bathroom to shower and get on her way. By the end of bathing, though, she was fighting nausea.
Crap.
Taking deep, even breaths, she pulled on her clothes and walked down the hallway. She followed the sound of voices and found two people talking in the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said.
Anna and a man she hadn’t met yet turned to look at her. “Miss Linton?” Anna said. “May I get you some br
eakfast? Eggs, potatoes, bacon?”
Elle felt another roll of nausea. “Herbal tea and toast, please. Can you tell me where Mr. Maddox is?”
The woman smiled. “The sunroom. He likes to read the paper there in the morning when he’s here,” she said. “Would you like me to bring your toast and tea into the sunroom?”
“Yes, thank you very much,” she replied.
As Anna had said, Brock sat in a chair in the sunroom, reading a newspaper. She felt a sudden attack of shyness. She’d stayed over at Brock’s apartment at the company several times, but he’d never brought her here. Seeing him in the home he’d grown up in pointed out the differences between them. He was wealthy—and legitimate. She wasn’t.
Silly, she told herself. She just needed to go home. “Brock,” she said.
He immediately turned around and looked at her with those blazing blue eyes. “Good morning. Did you rest well?”
“Yes,” she said. “I should go back home.”
“How’s your stomach feeling?” he asked.
“It’s felt worse,” she hedged.
“How’s the morning sickness?”
She swallowed. “I’ll be okay.”
“Why don’t you sit down and stop pushing yourself?”
“I have things to do,” she said.
He pulled a sheet of paper from the table and handed it to her. “Here. Maybe this will help you take a break.”
She glanced at the press release. It announced the engagement and subsequent wedding of Elle Linton and Brock Maddox.
Elle sank into a chair. “You haven’t sent this out, have you?”
“It went out last night,” he said.
She sucked in a deep breath and fought light-headedness. “Why?”
His gaze met hers. “You know it’s the right thing. Do you really want to raise an illegitimate child? Doesn’t your child deserve more?”
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, her heart torn. “We’re not marrying for the right reasons.”
“What could be a better reason than our child?” He frowned. “You look pale. Do you need water?”
She shook her head. “I feel sick,” she said and raced for the bathroom by her room.
After her stomach calmed down, Elle wiped her face with a cool washcloth and brushed her teeth. Then she sank into a chair in the blue bedroom where she’d slept last night. She was trying to calm down but her mind was racing. Marriage to Brock Maddox? She shook her head at the possibility. At the same time she wondered how she could get out of it now that he’d released the news to the press. What choice did she have?
Hearing a tap at the door, she felt her heart race.
“Elle,” Brock said. “Are you okay?”
Not really, she thought, but rose from the bed and opened the door. He looked down at her in concern. “If you’re getting sick this often, you should see a doctor,” he said.
“Well, you have to admit it’s been a rough twenty-four hours for me.” She gazed at him, hard. “Why did you go ahead and announce our marriage when I’d already told you no?”
“Because I’m thinking of our child. Our child deserves the best I can give him or her, and I believe a real man doesn’t shirk his responsibilities.”
Like her father had. Elle had to admit she had never wanted the cloak of shame for her child that she had worn for most of her life. How many times had she been asked about her father and been forced to reply that she didn’t have one? “This is too fast.”
Brock’s jaw tightened. “It can’t happen fast enough, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “When news of your pregnancy hits, I want you wearing a wedding band and living in my home.”
She frowned, feeling her stomach turn. “Is this all about image?”
“No,” Brock said. “It’s about doing the right thing for everyone concerned. I want you and our baby protected.” He sighed. “You’re right. This is fast, but it’s necessary. If you were dreaming of a big church wedding, that’s going to be difficult to pull off.”
“I never pictured a big, fussy wedding for myself. Whenever I thought about it—and it wasn’t often—I always thought a small beach wedding would be beautiful,” she said. “But that wouldn’t work now, so—”
“Yes, it can,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I can make that happen. Would you like a new dress, and flowers?”
“No, it’s not necessary,” she demurred, looking away, feeling confused by his consideration.
“Let’s schedule this for a week from now. Ask someone you trust to go dress shopping with you, and choose some flowers. You can put it on my card.”
“No, I—”
“I insist,” he said, taking her hand.
Compelled by his tone, she met his gaze again.
“We’re making a big commitment, Elle. It may not be what we’d planned, but it’s going to work out. There’s no reason for you to be miserable during the process.”
But what about him? she wondered. He may be pushing forward on marrying her, but what were his real feelings? Especially since he knew she’d betrayed him for her grandfather. He still didn’t know about her mother’s treatments, and she found herself reluctant to tell him. Would he think it was just an excuse? Would he think she had tried to extract information from him in bed when in truth, falling for Brock and going to bed with him had never been part of the plan?
“How can we possibly make this work? With my family background and yours?” she asked.
“You and I will make it work,” he said. “We have good motivation.”
“But what about how I leaked company secrets?” she asked.
“That’s in the past,” he said firmly, his jaw locked. “We need to take care of the present and look toward the future.”
Elle heard his words but his hard expression made her wonder if he would ever be able to truly forgive her.
Exiting the elevator in the Powell Street office of Maddox Communications on Monday, Brock felt a sense of responsibility hit him, as it often did. It was hard to believe, but even the seven-story Beaux Arts building built in 1910 would have been demolished by the wrecking ball if not for his father’s determination to restore it. These days, the reception area looked totally different than it had during James’s heyday. Continuing his father’s tradition of embracing modern technology, Brock had arranged for two seventy-inch plasma screens to sit on either side of the reception desk, showing videos and commercials produced by Maddox Communications.
Nodding to the receptionist, Brock walked down the hallway, noting Elle’s empty desk outside his office. He hadn’t needed to fire her or ask her to resign. She’d known she wouldn’t be welcome in the office any longer. He felt a twinge of longing followed quickly by a blast of impatience with himself. From the first day she’d begun working for him, Elle had inspired a strange combination of emotions inside him.
If he’d been smarter, perhaps he wouldn’t have allowed himself to get involved with her so easily. But she was smart and warm, and her sultry blue eyes had distracted him after his fiancée had left him wondering if he should even try to get involved in a serious relationship with a woman. When they’d given in to their impulses, she hadn’t asked him for more. That had only made him ravenous for her.
His need could have brought down the agency his father had worked so hard to build. How could Elle have tricked him like that? How could she have lied with her kisses and passion?
He thought of her grandfather and wondered if he would have done the same for his father if he’d been asked. Brock already knew the answer. He would have done anything his father asked because he’d provided Brock with unswerving love and loyalty.
Pushing aside his mixed emotions, he walked into the office that had belonged to James Maddox. Brock had changed it very little since his father’s death. Somehow, keeping the same furniture made him feel as if his father were still nearby. The founder of Maddox Communications, however, would be turning in his grave if he knew Brock had gotten sexually involv
ed with his assistant, let alone the granddaughter of Athos Koteas.
He called the human resources director to send up a temporary assistant. Someone trustworthy, he emphasized, feeling a surge of bitterness and tamping it down. Stabbing his fingers through his hair, he took some time to prioritize the work on his desk. Brock was still babying the deal with The Prentice Group. Marrying Elle would dispel any objections the conservative client would have about Brock’s involvement with a coworker.
He swore under his breath. This week had been a nightmare. Finding out that Elle had betrayed him had been bad enough, but learning of her pregnancy had totally turned his head around. Even though he wasn’t sure he could ever trust her again, seeing her in his house had done something to him. Having her there had made the house feel more like a home to him.
Brock had lost his fiancée because he’d ignored his personal life in order to focus on the company. Although he wasn’t in love with Elle, he did have feelings for her. Add that to the fact that she was carrying his child, and he was determined to make their relationship legal.
His BlackBerry rang and he checked the incoming number. His brother, Flynn. He’d probably gotten wind of the press release. Brock picked up. “Brock here.”
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Flynn said. “This is sudden.”
Brock felt a twist of discomfort. Since Flynn had gotten married and stepped down as VP at the firm, Brock had found himself wanting more camaraderie with his brother. “You know me. When I make a decision, I move fast.”
“I’ll say. Are you headed to the courthouse tomorrow?”
“We’re getting married next week,” Brock said. “It’ll be a beach ceremony. I’d like you to come.”
Silence followed. “Thanks. I’m honored.”
“I’ll give you the details later. How is Renee?” Brock asked, referring to Flynn’s wife.
“Happily bearing my child,” Flynn said. Brock could hear the contentment in his brother’s voice—for once, he felt a sliver of envy. He couldn’t honestly say that Elle was happy to be pregnant with his child.
“She’s excited about attending the shower for Jason and Lauren Reagert’s baby this weekend.”
